The Devastation of Baal

by Guy Haley

  A gate opened. Servitors entered carrying racks of melee weapons. Under the direction of red-robed blood thralls, they set them up at the side of the arena. Fine craftsmanship was the hallmark of each. All were edged, but none were powered.

  ‘I offer the challenge. What weapon will you select?’ said Asante.

  Erwin shrugged. ‘Your challenge, your choice, captain.’

  ‘Longswords,’ said Asante. He spoke through bared teeth. His jaw hardly moved as he spoke.

  ‘Longswords it is, then,’ said Erwin. He beckoned a serf who fetched a straight sword four feet long. An identical weapon was brought from a second rack. The mortals who carried them were obliged to use all their strength, but Asante and Erwin took the hilts in a single hand. Erwin gave his weapon a few experimental sweeps. It hissed through the air.

  ‘Baalite steel,’ Erwin said, impressed. He ran his finger down the blade. ‘Sharp.’

  Asante glowered at him.

  A tall pulpit was wheeled to the edge of the pit. The platform was faced on all sides by the visage of stern angels whose foreheads bore massive bloodstones. Dante mounted the steps and the pulpit was pushed out further as he ascended, until it was over the edge of the pit. From there, he could address combatants and audience both.

  ‘For what reason is this challenge issued?’ said Commander Dante. ‘In amity or in enmity?’

  ‘Enmity. This is a matter of honour. Captain Erwin jeopardised my mission at Zozan with his disregard for my orders,’ said Asante scornfully.

  ‘What is your response, Captain Erwin?’ asked Dante.

  ‘I have given my response already,’ said Erwin, altogether more mildly. ‘I was under no obligation to obey him. I came to his aid, whereupon he immediately assumed he was my superior. I declined to agree. By following my own course, as is my right, I saved a ship of the Angels Numinous he had set as a decoy from destruction.’

  Dante’s impassive masked face stared down.

  ‘There is no grudge here,’ said Dante. ‘You may step aside from the challenge if you wish, Captain Erwin.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Erwin with a sly smile. ‘I do not want that at all. I will fight Asante for the pleasure of it, if there is no matter of honour to answer.’

  ‘With no malice?’ said Dante. ‘From either side?’

  Asante shook his head. ‘Honour, not malice.’

  ‘None whatsoever, my lord,’ said Erwin.

  ‘Then take your places,’ said Dante. ‘This bout shall go no further than the point of yielding. Blood may be spilt, but if I deem there is a serious risk to either combatant, I shall call a halt myself. Is this understood?’

  ‘Aye, my lord,’ said Asante.

  ‘Yes,’ said Erwin.

  Erwin and Asante went to opposite sides of the duelling ring, fifty feet apart.

  ‘Then stand ready!’ commanded Dante.

  They raised their blades in mirror image, two hands on the long hilts, tips pointed directly upward.

  “Begin!” said Dante.

  Silence fell on the gathering. Asante and Erwin circled each other, one foot over another in measured sidesteps. They spiralled inward, until they were within striking distance, eyes locked, each waiting for the other to move.

  Captain Asante broke first, his blade flicking out towards Erwin’s head as he stepped in. Erwin parried easily, and deflected the attack that followed. The blades sang off each other, and then they were back in their guard positions, swords humming with the impact.

  Asante attempted two more such attacks, seeking to draw responses from Erwin so that he might decipher his fighting style and construct a strategy to beat him. Erwin kept his responses to a minimum, giving nothing away. Asante was stronger than Erwin, and more aggressive. Erwin reckoned himself the better swordsman. Asante’s attacks lacked finesse. In case it were bluff and he was ­hiding his skill, he reserved forming an opinion.

  Eventually, Erwin decided it was his time to strike, his sword flashing out and taking Asante by surprise. Three attempts around Asante’s guard were foiled. Their blades spoke for them in quick, metallic sentences.

  They parted a moment, drawing a few paces further back from one another. Their circling slowed, and then the fight began in earnest.

  Erwin attacked without warning, his sword directed low for Asante’s legs. The Blood Angel saw the move and responded. Erwin switched line before Asante’s counter could land. Asante leapt back too slowly, and Erwin’s blade drew a line of crimson across Asante’s ribs.

  ‘Do you yield?’ said Erwin.

  Asante showed his teeth. His eyes were shining, his canines long. The thirst had him.

  Erwin’s own thirst rose in response. It surprised Erwin that Asante’s anger affected him. They were not of the same brotherhood.

  Asante’s wound was shallow and closed quickly. They attacked together, swords weaving blurs of steel around their heads, blades sparking when they hit. Asante sought to shake Erwin’s grip with his superior strength, but Erwin was too practised.

  Asante backed away. Erwin, his blood up, came forward, but Asante’s retreat had been a false one, and he powered off his back leg, sword swinging around for a powerful blow.

  Captain Erwin’s blade rang heavily from Captain Asante’s. Asante barged into him, and they both staggered back. Erwin was too slow in bringing his blade back into position, and Asante slammed the cross guard of his sword into Erwin’s face. Erwin turned his head a fraction of a second before the quillion could take his eye. Asante’s fist met his mouth instead. Lips burst on his teeth, filling his mouth briefly with blood, before his enhanced physiology sealed the wound.

  Asante dropped back and swung the blade around at head height. Again in the nick of time Erwin parried, but he was off balance and it was a clumsy interception. Asante came in again, weapon blurring. He ducked a desperate blow from Erwin by dropping into a crouch, swinging his legs around to take Erwin’s out from underneath him.

  Before Erwin could stand, Asante was over him, sword at his neck.

  ‘Yield,’ said Asante.

  ‘I will yield,’ said Erwin, and spat a thick clot of blood from his mouth.

  Asante cast aside his sword and reached out his hand. Erwin took it.

  ‘Let all enmity be banished,’ said Dante, ‘worked out in this argument of swords. Is your enmity banished, Captain Erwin?’

  ‘I had none to begin with, my lord,’ said Erwin.

  ‘And you, Brother Asante?’ said Dante.

  ‘Will you obey me in future?’ said Asante. He held out his hand again.

  Erwin looked at it, then up at Asante’s face. ‘I told you, if my Chapter Master decreed I should follow you, then I would. He has, so I shall.’

  He reached out his hand and he and Asante clasped wrists.

  ‘Your beating me has nothing to do with it,’ said Erwin.

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Asante, lightly panting. ‘But I still beat you.’

  Erwin laughed.

  They were walking from the ring when the next call for challenges went out. This, however, was interrupted by the loud trumpet of a herald servitor.

  ‘My lords, pray welcome Captain Fen of the Angels Vermillion.’

  Dante froze. Erwin thought that a strange reaction, and he stopped at the edge of the pit to watch. Asante halted by him. He stared in open hostility at the newcomers, and this too Erwin found curious.

  Over a hundred warriors came into the Well of Angels through a gateway tunnel bored through the Verdis Elysia and out of the northern cliff. They were arrayed for battle, and their armour was scarred with signs of recent combat. Several of them were wounded. Acid had burned away their paint, leaving bare, discoloured metal in place of their livery. Enough of them carried colours so that their Chapter could be identified. The gathered blood of Sanguinius parted to let them through.

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p; Their feet crashed on stone as they marched in close formation to stand before Dante unchallenged. Their leaders came forward in a loose group; a captain, a Chaplain, and three Sanguinary priests.

  Their leader held up his hand, and the party knelt and dropped their heads, the wounded among them performing the same action though it clearly pained them to do so. When they were all on their knees, the captain joined them. Only then did he speak.

  ‘I am Captain Fen,’ said their leader. ‘I come to treat with Commander Dante, Lord of the Host. We have travelled far to offer fealty to the Lord of Baal, and to aid in the coming battle.’

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ said Dante, fury thickening his voice.

  Captain Fen kept his head bowed.

  ‘We offer ourselves for the defence, in the name of Sanguinius and of the Blood, as is our right as scions of the Great Angel. Although we were not called upon, we are here.’

  A Chaplain pushed his way to the front of the crowd. ‘I am Chaplain Ordamael, and I say you are not welcome here!’ he said.

  ‘Brother, what is happening?’ said Erwin to Asante.

  Asante glanced at Erwin in puzzlement. Perhaps he expected Erwin to bear a grudge against him. Erwin widened his eyes to prompt a response.

  ‘Dante issued a ban on the Angels Vermillion some five hundred years ago,’ said Asante reluctantly. ‘He will not say why. Only the High Chaplain knows.’

  ‘The Paternis Sanguis speaks the truth. You are not welcome here,’ said Dante.

  ‘Aid is not welcome? I bring more than a hundred warriors,’ said Fen.

  ‘We do not need your help,’ said Dante.

  Fen looked up. ‘Nevertheless, we are here. Do not turn us away.’

  Sanguinius’ metal face glowered down from the pulpit.

  Fen got to his feet and removed his helmet. He was young for a captain, and afflicted with journey’s weariness, but he would have his say. ‘My lord, I am aware of your dislike for our Chapter,’ he said. ‘We have braved many dangers in our voyage from the Bloodspike to Baal. The warp is in turmoil. Tyranids infest every system we attempted to put in to. As you can see, we have fought our way here, losing two thirds of our number on our pilgrimage.’

  ‘Chapter Master Chauld cannot buy his forgiveness by your sacrifice,’ said Dante.

  ‘Forgive me, my lord, but Chapter Master Chauld is dead, slain by the Necrons forty years ago. Moar is Master of our brotherhood now. He does not know we are here, and indeed we have come in direct contravention of his orders. We humbly ask for your absolution for the sins of our Chapter. Not for ourselves, but so that we might protect the home of our gene-sire by your side.’

  Murmurs ran around the crowd. It appeared few warriors knew of Dante’s distaste for the Angels Vermillion.

  ‘You will renounce your practices?’ said Dante. ‘The letting of innocent blood?’

  ‘Which Chapter can claim their hands are clean of innocent blood?’ said Fen. ‘All of us know brothers who have fallen. Your tower of Arameo holds its own secrets. How are they who are held within fed?’

  Dante evaded the question. ‘Your kind institutionalised butchery,’ he said. ‘Rationally. Coldly.’

  ‘Only to prevent worse atrocity,’ said Fen. ‘Our Chapter is not the only one to sate its appetites this way. For the loss of a few, the many are protected.’

  Outraged shouts greeted this last pronouncement.

  ‘You are in no position to allege misdeeds on the parts of others, when yours are known,’ said Dante.

  Fen was disappointed. ‘For our honesty we are punished. Lesser men would become your enemies, not beg to be your friends. We here do not agree with our Chapter practices. They have grown more extreme under Moar. We wish only to serve as best we may. We will place ourselves at the vanguard of the fighting. Let our deaths redeem us.’

  Dante regarded the captain for a moment.

  ‘You are sincere in your desire for rapprochement?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Tell me what occurred on your voyage here.’

  ‘There were nigh three companies of us,’ said Fen. ‘We five score and twelve are all that remain. We were to rendezvous with brothers of the Fifth Company at Danvin. Their captain is close to me, a friend, and shares my opinions of Moar. There was no sign of them, instead we were welcomed by the foe. We were attacked there by a tyranid swarm and forced to fight ourselves free and back into the warp. Away from the shadow, we attempted to send an in-warp message to our brothers, trusting that they too had fought past the tyranids. We made brief contact, but lost two of our three astropaths to the shadow madness for our efforts, and so we broke warp at Aldine to attempt communication again. We were ambushed as soon as we emerged. The tyranids were waiting for us, as if they knew we would arrive. We lost two cruisers, Captain Malthaen, and the majority of our Third Company. Their gene-seed has gone. Once more we were forced to withdraw. Within the immaterium we found ourselves half blind. A darkness is falling over the Astronomican. The shadow of the warp laps at the shores of this system. I fear we are the last to answer the call of the gathering host. The tyranids are coming.’

  A murmur went around the room.

  ‘It could be so, Aldine is close to Baal,’ said Bellerophon rapidly. Dante silenced him.

  ‘We thought it would be safe,’ said Fen. ‘We were wrong.’

  ‘We are sorry for your losses,’ said Dante.

  Fen took the condolences well. ‘We are sorry we could bring no more of our brothers to aid you, my lord. If your judgement goes against us, we could fight, my brothers and the host here. We will not. If you desire to kill us, we will not resist. We come to Baal in its time of need. Will you put aside your hatred of our Chapter for the moment, and accept?’

  Dante paused. He gripped the sides of his pulpit and bowed his head. Erwin was surprised yet again. Dante was a legend. Legends did not hesitate.

  Abruptly, Dante raised his head. Light flashed from Sanguinius’ angry face.

  ‘Rise, my brothers!’ said Dante.

  The Angels Vermillion stood.

  ‘I accept the terms of your service. You are welcome to fight with us, in memory of our progenitor. Sit now. Feast. You deserve your rest before the real struggle begins.’

  ‘My lord!’ protested Ordamael.

  ‘My decision is made, Chaplain. If Moar himself came here, my reaction would have been different. These warriors are penitents.’

  Thralls came to the Angels Vermillion and led them to seats. Food was brought out for them. Human medicae and Sanguinary priests from several Chapters went to the aid of the wounded. Techmarines tended their machines. Relief passed over Fen’s exhausted face.

  ‘My thanks, my lord.’

  ‘Now!’ called Dante. ‘We shall continue. Who will bring the next challenge?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Taking of the Innocents

  Bronze doors clanked open, and Commander Dante stepped out onto the marble pediment of the statue of Sanguinius. The Sanguinary Guard and blood thralls ­lining the balustrade saluted. The tense hush of a silent crowd greeted him, their breath a gentle breeze on the still air.

  There were several thousand Baalites crammed into the square. Tens of thousands more waited outside the city walls of Angel’s Fall. Dante surveyed them, and they turned their faces away in fear when the blank stare of Sanguinius’ death mask met their eyes.

  Fifteen hundred years ago he had stood in that same square with the crowds, looking up at the statue and the living angels at its feet. Was there any of that boy left inside him? he wondered. Millennia had dulled his memories of the days before. Sanguinius’ gene-seed had wiped away the face he had once had. Time had eroded the new one that replaced it. Only his eyes, tawny amber and possessed of a confliction of warmth and cold, remained the same. Everything else had changed. Everything. />
  ‘People of Baal!’ he said, and all over Baal Secundus his words were repeated, translated where necessary into tribal pidgin. A host of imperfect angels, effigies of hololithic light four hundred feet tall, came to life all over the twin moons. The nearest wavered ghostlike outside the city, projection ribbons shimmering where they encountered pockets of static-laden dust in the air, the loop patterning barely strong enough to be seen through the sun. At Kemrender and Sell Town, at Angel’s Leap and in the Ghost Lands, at the Gathering of Clans in the Great Salt Waste, and at every other place on the moon where the sparse population gathered in any number, Dante spoke. He had considered carefully how to deliver his edict. It had to be done simultaneously on both worlds. He had to do it in person, but he could only be in one place at a time.

  He was not biased in choosing his one-time home, he told himself. Baal Secundus was the more populous. It had Angel’s Fall. It had the more viable ecosystem. The tyranids would hit Secundus harder than Primus.

  Still, he felt a pang of guilt to favour one moon over the other, even so slightly.

  ‘Under my rule,’ he continued, ‘these worlds have seen many dangers and faced many threats. We have repelled them, whether ork or traitor. You have prospered while my angels have protected you. Your young have bolstered our ranks, taking up the onerous service of the Great Angel for the glory of the Imperium of Man. Baal and its moons have contributed more than many other worlds to the survival of our species, and for that I am thankful – the Emperor is thankful!’

  A worshipful moan passed over the crowd. Dante’s words echoed down every street of the shanty capital of Baal Secundus. Where the titanic hololiths could not be seen, servo-skulls and herald-cherubs drifted over deserted sands, shouting out the message to the wind and the fire scorpions.

  ‘In these dark times we face our greatest challenge yet. A horde of alien monsters bears down upon our system. Already they have devoured much of the life of the Red Scar suns. Our worlds are next.

  ‘I will not allow the birthworld of the Great Angel to fall! Nor shall Baal Primus, or Baal itself. You see in the skies the gathered might of all Sanguinius’ sons. I called them, and they heeded. They are here to stop this terror, on these sands, where once our blessed father trod.’